Page 69 of Dark Breaker

“Hey, I don’t drive aimlessly,” I counter. “It’s always with purpose. Either to get to my destination, or to think about things.”

He studies me a moment. “You like thinking when you’re on your scooter, do you?”

“It’s the best place to do it,” I tell him. “Riding, or driving a car, becomes basically automatic after a certain point. Something the unconscious mind can handle entirely. Meanwhile, the conscious mind is free to ponder.”

He nods. “Sometimes when I have a problem and I’m not sure how to solve it, I’ll go for a long drive and a solution to my problem will come to me when I’m in the car. Though I’m not purposely trying to solve the problem, at least with my conscious mind. I leave it to my subconscious.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right,” I say. “I do that, too. Pondering without pondering. I also used to take long walks on the beach to do the same thing. Can’t do that anymore, though, considering I don’t live on the beach at the moment.”

“Sure you can,” he insists. “The beach isn’t all that far from my apartment.”

“Yeah, but I prefer private beaches,” I tell him. “I don’t like having other people around.”

He nods. “Good point. Things could get messy… if you were on a public beach in a bikini I’d probably smash-in the head of any man I caught staring at you.”

“I don’t know if that’s cute or over-possessive,” I reply.

He only grins.

Smashing-in the heads of men just for looking at me. If that isn’t a sign of jealousy, I don’t know what is. I wonder if he cares more about me than he’s letting on. Maybe more than he even realizes himself.

Fabio interrupts my thoughts. “So, you never did tell me what else you like to do in your spare time.”

“I don’t know, normal stuff,” I say. “Listening to music. Netflix. Traveling. Being with friends.”

He nods. “I like Italian pop music. When a singer belts out lyrics with true feeling, when the song makes you tingle… that’s what I like.”

“The best music does,” I agree. “I wish I could do that when I play. Evoke tingles, I mean.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You play?”

“Of course,” I tell him. “Piano and electric guitar.”

He glances around until he spies the source of the background piano music—the dude dressed in a tux in the corner of the room. The man is lightly playing some classical song on a grand piano.

“Would you play for me?” Fabio asks.

“What, you mean here?” When he nods, I stiffen and glance at the neighboring tables nervously. “I can’t. I’m not that good. Everyone will laugh at me.”

“I’ll smash in the face of anyone who laughs,” he says calmly.

“Seriously I’m not that good. I’m too shy to play here. Plus the place is too pretentious. Seems rude to interrupt that dude in the middle of a song as well.”

Fabio shrugs. “He’d let you play if you asked. I’m sure of it. You have a… certain glow, and a way about you, that wins over people. They can see there’s something special about you. Your beauty, your winning smile, your confidence… he’ll get off that bench and let you take over without question.”

“And you’re sure it won’t be because he’ll see you towering there behind me?” I tease. But I smile before he can answer. “Either way, I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, don’t expect more of it,” he says gruffly. “I’m not really the romantic type.”

He opened up to me there again. Made himself vulnerable. And he didn’t like it when I pointed that out. I was right to be careful earlier. Well, he is trying at least, I have to give him credit for that. There might be hope for us yet.

“No, I suppose you’re not romantic,” I say, wanting to assuage his male ego. “Anyway, I’m not going to do it. I’m not good enough. You should see Angela, though.”

“Massimo’s wife?” he asks. “I don’t care about Angela. Only you. I’ll get a piano installed in our suite.”

I shake my head. “No. Maybe someday. I’m more into guitar right now, anyway.”

A mischievous glint comes to his eyes. “Then you have to play me a song when we get home tonight.”